Hit the Blum-Deckler
by A Schoolday
Summary: After being hospitalized from two very different instances involving Quinn's new dog, Daria and Tiffany are made roommates.
1. Part one

Being woken up to 'Say Good morning to Aunty Daria' made her wished that she was just undergoing a nightmare. Dark disappeared outside the windows throughout the home and was replaced with fresh new sunlight; it streamed down and burned her eyelids closed. Four pounds was added to the bed but Daria insists on keeping her eyes locked shut. The weight crawled closer to her face and greeted it with quick licks. Even then she does not let herself see the budging crossed eyes and tiny needle teeth crowning the root of the tongue. Daria jerked to the other side, her lazy 'ew' did not measure up to her true disgust. Not just disgust for it but the one who released it onto her bed.

Downstairs was not much better as Mr. Morgendorffer covered from one part of the floor to another. His skin color now matching the spray bottle in hand; Daria missed when she did not recognize the product at first, just dubbing it a red Windex bottle. Not when he practiced making bacon has the kitchen air been so toxic and hard to breathe in. The histrionics of Jake were often tiresome but she could not bring herself to blame him this time.

"See dad, this is why I didn't want a dog!" he hollered to the heavens above. Even though he swears his father would not have been there. Daria passes by him, looking unimpressed by the event. She picked over to her mother instead as she sat down in a chair. Like Daria, she was not so eager to be in a frenzy over what happened while she barely slept.

"She peed again?" Mrs. Morgendorffer murmured.

Daria wanted make a joke reassuring she didn't mean Quinn but it was just too early,

"uh-huh."

"Story of her life." Her mom massaged her temples with a single hand. The back of her hand covered her eyes.

Quinn came down with the dog in hand and gave her a mild scolding in gratuitous baby talk. She stares vacantly with big bat ears raised. Quinn drops her onto the small blue lined mat near the corner of the kitchen.

"No Tinkerbell! You have to go to the bathroom on the Wee Wee Pad!"

"I guess she's allergic to the elephant urine they use to make those things." Daria steals a sip of the milk jug she took out to masquerade making coffee.

"Ewwww!" Quinn quickly snatches her dog off the pad in a way reminiscent of a falcon would do if you ever let a creature that tiny  
go outside. Something Quinn would be so quick to do, Daria assumed. She pictured her on a lounge chair in sunglasses too black to see in, hoping to turn tan from the sun as Tinkerbell is being closed in by a dancing butterfly-like shadow that grows into a bigger, uglier one while roaming free without parental protection.

Mr. Morgendorffer tested the spray can on the back of his hand. "Say Quinn, why don't we get something that pees in a box, like instinctively. Let's get a cat."

"But they're mean and hiss at you," she said.

"You already have three of those anyway," Daria describes the fashion club.

"Jake, get over it," Hellen joined in, "and besides we don't need another thing peeing under the table for you to wake everyone over for."

"But...Tinkerbell peed in my room this time."

Hellen turns to her younger daughter by rotating on the chair, to ask her a rightfully asked question. Quinn stayed quiet, daring not to cough. Jake's next predictably loud 'dammit' dropped before he runs up the stairs and straight to Quinn's room. The red bottle was being held like a loaded Uzi. While the girls stayed downstairs, he was off to find the hidden stain.

It was later that day, too later that day. Sandi could just laugh, it was not a good look to her and having someone in her circle wear it was an insult. However, she thinks of herself as a leader, one who should never halt for someone who didn't care. Just so long as everyone else was present looking good, she won' and Stacy came in almost an hour ago and sat pretzel legged the minute they touched the air of Sandi's room. Wearing the same outfits they always wore; they look passable. If up to Stacy she would equip complicated add ons that were not necessary and if it were up to Tiffany she would blend color that would be hard on the eyes. Sandi loathed contrarians, Quinn often becomes one during discussion-based meetings.

"Is there anyone here who dares not concur with my statement of rightfully punishing Amanda for ostentatiously wearing a tutu at the mall?"

Quinn chimed in proving herself not absent. She breathed heavily while Tinkerbell was still on her arm not shaking like a dog her breed often does. Its small head cocked back and forth to view the other humans with big eyes.

"Why are you late for today's meeting?" Sandi just said as the others politely greeted each other.

"Oh Sandi I'm so sorry but I had to put this cute dress on Tinkerbell before getting here- but she thought it was a new toy and tried chewing it like with everything else she sees." Quinn yanked the piece of the cloth from the lockjaw.

Sandi criticized, "It figures, a dress like that resembles mostly the worn and torn carcass of a baby cheetah."

"What!? Oh no," Stacy raved, misunderstanding the previous statement

Then Tiffany talked, "uh what is that?"

"I could go back home a put on the yellow raincoat on her?" Quinn looked sheepish, humiliated whenever Sandi made it clear she was doing something wrong.

"Or you could go back home and make her wear clothes that says 'I'm a big distraction and my mother projecting some disturbing fantasies on me'." the unique drawl in Sandi's voice beat the word 'mother' into 'mudder'.

"Uh what is thatttt?" This repetition made Sandi turn her sarcastic criticism to her, sarcasm that could put Daria to shame even.

"It's a lunchbox, Tiffany."

"Hmm...okay." Tiffany examined the so called lunchbox in its tan fuzzed glory. Not having to touch it, it licked her on the chin. It was as unmoving as any stuffed animal, dress like one too. Colossal glassy eyes and stiff legs can pass it as a Beanie Boo. She did not expect it to more.

"Please, she won't be a distraction I promise," Quinn pleaded, caught up in her desire to not have another passive aggressive argument with Sandi.

"Uh ohhhhh." Tiffany's hands became balloons. Water balloons, no, blood balloons; tight wrists closing off an excess of blood swelling and pumping through them. The usually thin fingers appeared meaty.

"Yeah, she could be the fashion club's mascot!" interrupted Stacy.

"Stac-yy! I suggest we not represent our unity under important issues with a miniature beast of burden."

Stacy gasped loud, not at the responds but at Tiffany who soon visually consumed everyone's attention. The barren head crowded with air grew six times its main size; forcing the slanting eyes shut as they sunk into the swelling. As the hands, that can easily fit over the long surface of her face. The forehead especially grew, rivaling the width of the Hanson poster on the wall rising at her back. Her hair could not reach even below her chin. It disproportionately hanged just a measly inch below the ears. This made it look like a short bob cut as opposed to the medium length locked black strands. Tiffany was her very own bobble head with these cartoony exaggerations of her body and the literal bobbling of her head swaying left to right on the stick-small neck. If she were to fall over it would flip the rest of her straight up. The raspy moans indicated aching pain.

"But I didn't know!" Quinn shrieked. Stacy danced around in a nervous frenzy. She looked horrified, Tiffany just looked beige personality of Tiffany had prevented her from reacting to problems like normal folks do. Sandi does not look too morbidly concerned either. Far too vindictive to prioritize, she sees this as an opportunity to target Quinn more.

"Gee Quinn, it certainly amazing how you overlooked Tiffany's deathly allergies by insisting that mongrel stays," she says smirking.

She turns white under her freckles when all three of her peers looked back her blankly. An uncomfortable responsibility was given to her,  
"Okay fine, I'll call dad to pick her up."

The green door slammed and fastened into the rest of the locker. A face of banal unhappiness was revealed so only after. Jane could only wonder how long it hid itself as she searched for a book. Daria spoke no words, only looked around for any undesirable plebeians to catch sight. Whatever she was concealing, it was more than just her face. She raised an arm, gravity yanked down the loose sleeve of her coat and it fell closer to the elbow. Just above it, too stiff to reach the armpit. Jane had a silent gasp choke her from the presentation of angry gashes and some harmless boo-boos from the night before. As the aunt of the dog, she was in charge of watching her as Quinn was busy.

"Do you ever have a normal day?" Jane asked as a genuine question disguised as a sarcastic one.

"Yeah once," she stealthy fixed her sleeve, "it was a Friday."

Meanwhile the football team strutted by, stepping on each other, lead by Kevin Thompson. He was the QB, which means the quarterback. Which means entitlement and pigheadedness, at least according to Mr. DeMartino. They acted as a commercial for this exchange, taking up valuable time being disruptive with their stampede. Too noisy and lasting to continue any conversation. Instead of being a commercial they were the end credits. Only to comeback minutes later in their english language class. When there, Kevin asked a question.

"No Kevin, Ralph's major ally in the book is not Miss Piggy."  
Mr. O'Neil shielded despair from everyone well. Even though the old kind face was in a state of nothing but honest seriousness. Passively holding the book over his chest to pray for verisimilitude progress from the children before him. A book was a worthy of being a shield even if it was as tiny as The Lord of The Flies was. All copies used and given out were short and squat enough to slide into a sorting slot for mail

"How about I call on someone I don't usually call on, how about you Tiffany?" He searched her out though the room only to withdraw his suggestion and call it pointless. Seeking her out was normally easy, as she sits among her associates. Now only three were present at the further back unit of the class.

"I forgot she's been hospitalized." He chuckles.

"It's about time," said Daria who thought little of Tiffany after the encounter from social counseling. Just as someone who has potential to be as nasty as Sandi but too dimwitted to cause much harm to anyone outside Stacy. The attention she brought to herself by speaking out made her subject to call, according to this teacher.

"Wait I didn't even raise my hand, AH!" There were invisible arrows shooting at her arm, punishing her for participating. They drugged her skin making too stiff to exert, doing so might tear it.

"Wow, the bite marks really hurt you that much?" Jane's mouth shifted towards Daria however forward her eyes remained. She thinks of the small dark bloody holes, it was difficult to imagine them being debilitating in a single way.

"I don't get it, they didn't hurt like that before." Once again Daria peeled down her sleeve. The lines of hardened blood and spots of scabs didn't brake. She flexed her hand in a circle to study the levels of pain. At that moment they were minor unlike a moment ago when just raising a hand crippled it.

Mr. O'Neil wheezes. Feeling like a witness of a crime, refused to say another on an impulse. Refused to call attention to the thing he sees and hear,  
"class dismissed for everyone except you, Daria."

"Looks like he's ready to give you feedback on that Jack the Ripper fanfiction you handed in," Jane says as she freely stands up while the girl next to her remains seated.

"Go on without me, I'll see you later," Daria tells her.

The teacher was as awkward to be around alone as it was to be singled out by him. Once the room emptied itself of all but two breathing parties, it was very difficult for either of them to be the first to interact. A grey wind blew the grading papers away even though all the windows have been shut for days. Finally Daria collected them off the floor as slowly as possible. If there were more than twenty of them, it would have taken her a week. Mr. O'Neil yelped from the surprised of having the pile dropped in front of him for no other reason than his edgy state. Regardless, he thanked her after.

"Hello Mr. O'Neil," Daria spoke like how kindergarten students responds in unison to their teacher greeting them.

"Hello Daria." Once again he is being shielded, not with a book but with intangible compassion. The kind that conceals grave concern.

"I couldn't help but notice you showing off some, questionable scars on your wrist to your friend." His smile fades but his eyes remained buttery.

"Relax, they don't hurt that much." She was a bit disappointed that was the reason he asked for her. Mostly she was cursing herself for displaying her injuries in the open like that.

"It makes me wonder if they are self inflicted," Mr. O'Neil darkly spoke.

"What? Of course not." Daria could have groaned.

"Now Daria, you know as a teacher I am responsible for you and your classmates," he explains in a way to invite warm communication.

"If you really want to know I got wrapped up in dog-sitting a chihuahua with razors for teeth and a half of a walnut for a brain." Daria travels the backpack up her arm to signify her desire to go home.

"I apologies but that excuse isn't going to work every time, even if you replace 'cat' with 'dog'. Please understand that this byproduct of your clear depression is not only hurting you physically, but emotionally too." He begged for her to speak the truth.

"I don't cut myself, damn it." Her eyes broke into an angry slant.

"It's better to be safe, I am obliged to call an ambulance." When Mr. O'Neil said that, she was on the verge of screaming on the inside.

A big white car drove her away. Two men lead her into it before with no force; behind her glasses Daria appear immensely frightened as her stone expressions would allow. What firstly just bothered her but has evolved into one whole serious thing to come. Three watched her from the sidewalk, the fashion club minus Tiffany Blum-deckler on their way to the mall stopped a walking to observe. They were not above listening in, gossipy as they were. Just moments ago they were clucking quietly to each other behind the ajar door of their classroom after English was over. Now they see Daria again, as they overheard, in the back of the truck looking at nothing in particular. It was a strange kind of ambulance, one with a rear window.

"So sad, your dog sitter turned out to be an emo," said Sandi to Quinn.

"Yeah, you think you know someone." Quinn remembered who Daria was to her, she knew the truth. Her dog gave her those cuts, not herself. This could have been serious, yet she does not get out of character. After all, the parents are to blame; Jake begrudgingly agreed with his wife to get her a pet to make her feel better after her boyfriend David ran away, Quinn started to think he got hit by a car.

Mrs. Morgendorffer could have died of shock when she received that phone call. It was easy to worry about what is going on with Daria but she instantly took her side. Although surprisingly, she believed her claim against what rumor was buzzing around the hospital. They hoped it didn't go viral at school as well. One of the officers conversed with her, he was the one who referred to her as 'madam'. There was a lot of clamor, Hellen said that keeping her child away from home against her will is unjust and she will contact authority. The Morgendorffers were told they had no room to call authorities, authority was right in front of their face. The fact was, all suicidal patients have to remain under supervision until they feel they will not do anything to kill themselves. Hellen grew red but still tried to deliver her point that her daughter, Daria Morgendorffer, as malcontent as she is, does not cut nor want to kill herself and the later came out of no where. It started as a small theory that germinated. It goes without saying that they had difficultly believing her, to be expected. They would have a better time if not for her disposition as an apparent clinically depressed child. As a clinically depressed child she must take off from school until given emancipation. This made Daria smile, and speak of her urges to jump out of a window onto her head. Hellen screamed at Jake to say something, the man who stood in place without a hair of argument towards the scary white and blue clad adults wanting to keep his daughter captive. It wasn't like he did not care; heavens know he does, but his limited speech system forbid him from saying anything besides "damn medical institutions". It was up to Hellen to haggle for her Daria, who was now left out in the halls waiting on a little stool. Either she is allowed home with some prescript therapy sessions or she stays for at least three days. The only saving graces gathered around her, the Lane sibling sent their sympathies.

"I got you something from the claw machine outside the hospital." Trent came bearing a gift, a molding teddy bear from decades ago put away as a prize for a game no one can win except him. Keeping claw machines right outside marketplaces was normal but one at a hospital was silly.

"Um, thanks Trent." Daria did not take it from him. Although she soon wished she had, as something to remember him by. When they left after staying for support for an hour, she felt shamefully alone. The conversations were nice, like an old friend visiting you when they heard you were sick. Jane foresighted the possibility of Daria having to stay here for the entire night. She promised to visit, bringing missed homework and pizza.

Every clock, classic and digital, turned to five o'clock at night. The blinks and the ticks laughed at the Morgendorffers. They were counting every hour wasted at a place so stale. Even regarding the turnabout that they could to be free to go home without regulation, it would have been far too late for it to just be a small memory that was written in sand to be blown away. It could turn into a joke to look back on in the future, but it will never be forgotten. There was no reassuring points, not a second of school time was missed. A group of girls from Lawndale were on their way to the mall the second school ended. Daria will miss the following days after, being forced to sleep at the hospital and depending on Jane to bring assignments over. For Daria's sake, Jane would actually take the effort to keep tabs on everything she missed. She would also be open to joke about the hospital's hilariously outrageous antics. Doctors cawed at her urine sample, scrapped intrauterine fluids, and everything about her. At first it looked so silly, they made a big deal out of the color of her pee. Asking her if it was from that morning and if she ate anything before. It was a shade of dark gold, unacceptable for a healthy teen. Detrimental dehydration likely resulted in it. The paper label she had to write her name plastered around it was tarnished from being run under the sink. Getting scrapped caused a familiar kind of hurt to Daria, the process felt too identical to copulating a metal spoon. Ironic, as that was what occurred on the small TV above. Only the girl on the screen looked more pleased than Daria had, because she literary was pleasing herself with it. Even the ludicrousness of Sick Sad World was a better world than this. Even when the initial attraction of it was the opposite. Her parents were not strangers to overreacting but after the heat of the revelry wore off they idled in the assigned patient room with Daria.

"Hey is that some orange Gatorade?" Jake bends down to be eye level at the labeled jar.

"Drink it, it'll be extra sweet from that apple I had," Daria urged, hopefully unserious. Picking off her jacket, she drifts. Then her shoes follow, then eye glasses. She took parts of herself apart from her and feels the need to be broken down. All left behind fell carelessly to the floor, except for the glasses which were valuable enough to be placed onto the folding table at the end. The fruit bowl sat next to it, all clean and colorful except the curly brown plant bearing the grapes. An apple was missing, of course.

"This is ridiculous! America's treatment of troubled teens couldn't be anymore twisted and this reaction is just a joke to serious issues relating to mental health!" shrieked Hellen circling the room. She went a little red in the face, quite literary. Her face became pink in a way so close to her husband. Even her ears went white, she wasn't done though. Once her breath is caught, she continues.

"They're lucky we're trumped by 'real authority' or I'll give them a litigation they'll never forget." While vouching for Daria, she takes a look at her. Doctors to the left, doctors to the right, her daughter wasn't anywhere to be found in her eyes. Until now when she watches her, Daria resigned to her new bed. Her eyes locked shut as to concentrate for a solution, but that couldn't be it.

Hellen Morgendorfer's rage was put out to talk to the one more effected by the situation than her, "Daria, honey? What are you doing?"

"What I did this morning, pretend I'm in just one big nightmare and keep sleeping." And so she forced herself to feel at home.

Daria woke up, looked around and laid back down. The room was quiet, it could not have been so late. Maybe eight o'clock at latest, yet it feels like everyone went to sleep. The heavy door of wood remained shut sealing away sound. The television no longer ran as a doctor must have turned the power off before leaving. She should not be alone, the room was a double. The border dividing the two did not trail all the way and ended at the own end of her bed. Daria wondered if it was occupied, possibly an old lady minding her own business quietly discarding her dentures. She bounced a bit in place to deliver herself further down the mattress. It was hearty work traveling to the foot without arms too tired to help. Daria lastly took her glasses and slobbery put them on. Being able to see made the room appear brighter but more desolate. Cold machines surrounded her and even the generous supply of ordinary equipment was made to look robotic. The bowl of fruits at the folding table was a rainbow in a room of grays. She was drawn to the colors in a sense, only to follow the other sources. A pink stick of lipgloss stood afar on a black table from the other room. Daria thought of another teenage girl, one who was likely going to be like her sister. All too much into appearance and feminine pursuits. What she saw was true to what she imagined, a teen girl was starring into reflective glass of some metal contraption like everything else. Not a deep contemplating look into a reflection, just vapid looking at something shiny. She turned around and Daria was reminded of her time counseling by someone doing volunteer work. Then she was reminded of a member of the club her sister is apart of. Daria could have hit the ground.

"Damn it," Daria says the phrase she has been saying the whole day.


	2. Part two

Jane comes in with homework.

"I thought their intentions were making me want to kill myself LESS," said Daria.

When Jane stopped by she hoped Daria would have been sent home before the night ended. Daria was here- miserable in the same bed. Not for a broken bone or flu, for the paranoia of others. Giving her a pile of schoolwork would be pulling the knife out and in. The figurative blood can be seen running out of her. It was in the sleepless black-brown eyes behind pieces of fogged glass.

"I know, Ms. Li looks like Jim Jong Un but does she have to run a school like him?" Jane responds.

"No not that." She turned away. The bosoms of blanket shrinking with movement. Pills fell to the floor and the noise was annoying her. Little blue allergy tablets bounced like jumping beans. The unit between the two sub rooms was pulled back that morning by a doctor so they can see a languid person move to pick them up, very languid.

Jane swallows. "Oh you poor soul."

Tiffany takes a break to read the capsule for whatever reason. Equally as slow, sat on the floor reading; not out loud thankfully. In her head she was on just the third word. The girl knows these things are doing something for her. Yesterday she was a balloon with bleeding eyes, today she recovered into her default self. She hums something untranslatable before being spoken to. Then she looks around to see where those words came from.

"Hey Tiffany, there's a mechanical horse ride outside that goes up and down and up and down for one minute," Jane whispers loud. "Only for twenty five cents"

"I love ponies." Tiffany leaves.

Daria wondered in there was a doctor ward out there somewhere to stop her. Questioning the linguistics of this crazy hospital was futile. So she learned not to past the one speculation.

"It's going to break her heart when she finds out there is no ride."

"I was serious! It's right behind the claw machine."

Jane shuffles through her pack. It was fuller looking than usually even without the homework from various classes stuffing it. Daria hoped it was not more homework. To make things easier, paint brushes were taken out of it.

"Speaking of which." She gives her the stuffed toy right after pulling it out. It was like magic that they read each others minds. If that was the case than they both knew how embarrassing it would be to ask. Jane said to keep it, Trent worked hard getting it for her. Claw machines are rip offs the rest of the time. Jane also said to think of them as she holds it. Defiantly as a joke, no sentiment was in her voice. She had to go home for some time until after noon. Daria dreaded waiting alone again. Everyone was all over the place, Hellen and Jake calmly discussing "adult duties" in the other room, Tiffany outside, Jane and Trent home for hours maybe even for the day. The only one not participating in the chaos was Quinn. Home doing yoga and work outs in purple tights in front of a camera. Tinkerbell looks at the strange ritual and at one point, runs under her head during a sit up. She gets paged by her mom to get over to the hospital in the middle of another sit up. As soon as possible.

"Come on down to Jo's, there's a clearance sale...on human rear ends! 'Pick Your Own Butt' tonight on Sick Sad World."

One shock of static and the Channel was changed. That was one of Jane's favorites, too. Crowding the screen with unneeded drama was the bickering forty-something ladies Quinn went to a book signing for. That was one of the only times she ever stepped foot in a library willingly. The Real Housewives of Lawndale, Daria thought it was called.

"Hey change that back," she growled, very monotone like.

"No wayyyy." Tiffany yielded when the other girl tried to make a grab for her remote. The beds were not far enough apart for that to be impossible. Already Daria pulled away for only a second.

"If you don't give me that I'm going to extend your stay at this hospital, do you understand." ...for a second chance.

Tiffany disappeared and reappeared at the opened mouth of the door. Carrying the remote outside with her. "I'm hot, but I'm quick."

Daria did not have the care to chase her; thinking she will be back with the remote at least before her show was done. Whatever the point of keeping the remote away if she left the room where the tv was is completely lost. Maybe this means she won't have to hear the grating strain of her voice. Like how her trip other went, now if only the pony ride lasted for more than a minute. When Daria got up it was not to get up to find her, but to use the bathroom.

She only had to take a few steps to the door until a big bottomed woman blocks it. No big bottomed woman stopped Tiffany when she walked out her room for no good reason even after stealing a remote.

"You got to be kidding me."

She was told that she was under special watch and need to stay in her room at all times. When she reiterated that she had to use the bathroom. The guard reiterates that she needs to stay in her room.

"That walking eggplant can leave whenever she wants but I can't," Daria said not as a question but as stating an observant fact.

"The bathroom has several accesses to self injury and death. We lost two patients over the course of a decade from letting them use it."

"Brilliant idea, not letting sad people pee." Daria rolled her eyes.

"We'll get you a basin."

The jaded teen went on a merciless rant,

"Or you can let me go and drop this treating the mentally ill like babies none sense ad hominem to teenagers. This kind of attention is the reason some people kill themselves, if they're not being ignored they're committed and looked at like unstable time bombs needing to be defused before it's too late. If that's the way people are treated when openly facing their problems, then I guess suicide is the easier option. Even if I was cutting this sure as hell won't make me feel anymore valid."

"Oh God did we trigger you?! Just take it easy and quickly return to bed," The adult pants like a husky in heat.

Daria rolls her eyes again. Went back to bed again. Refused any basin or medicine shoved in her face. Told everyone to forget about it, everyone being the doctors crowding her. To ward them away, she pretends to sleep.

The way the door opens did not sound like it was a doctor doing the opening. It was a very familiar way that made Daria open her eyes instead of roll them.

"Jane?" Daria sat up excited

"Ew no." it was Quinn

"Who made you come here?"

"Daria, nobody made me do anything! I'm an individual, I march to the beat of my own drummer." Quinn had that laugh-speak in her voice. Their mother has that too sometimes, when she was happy or lying.

"Ah yes, the wind up monkey with cymbals." Daria watches her look around the room. Like it was a museum exhibit and not, you know, a hospital. She questions in her head if she even knew Tiffany stays her, right next to her.

"No really why are you here," she goes on.

"Making sure you're not slitting your wrists to loud bad music, y'know like what the kids at school were asking about." Quinn closes a biology book after flipping through it. It was so thick that the papers gave the room a cold breeze of air briefly, like an air conditioner.

"Oh," Daria sighs.

"Where'd you get THAT?" Quinn crinkled her nose and scrunched her freckles together. Those of which a caricature artist once saw past layers of foundation caked on out of shame. The makeup was only rubbed in a few spots from having her face licked by Tinkerbell.

Daria took the stuffed bear close hard to her ribs. "Jane's brother..."

The sister who was bed bound and catching a light blush like an embarrassing sneeze stopped talking. Any new spoken words after came out in a grog. Smartly, it put this random affection into remission. Quinn took it from her roughly, impatient from the silence.

"I mean, I won it at the little claw machine outside."

The soft fat head gyrated in a fast motion with the shakes from Quinn's hands. She tested the durability, the mass, the little ugly thing had its vigor from the day it was first born. It was still full of love, all full of love. From the cloudy insides with no more fortis, to the skin, the gray cloth.

"Tinkerbell is going to love chewing this up!" Quinn shouted. She scuttled with it out and into the hallway without hearing word from Daria, someone who was against the idea. No matter how nonverbal she was about it. She could see the image of both Trent and Jane melt.

"I told you, that girl is not being crazy," Quinn chuckled. "I don't know why you want me checking up on some stranger."

"Quinn" Hellen sang disciplinary.

Her daughter became fish eyed from the glares. She did not feel guilt but responsibility. The bear was squeezed gently in her fist to mitigate the tension out of her body. The ration of it verses her small figure was jarring.

"Okay it's my fault! We were in the dog store and the lady showed us this cute Chiweenie-"

"Chiweenie?" Asked the doctor who was with her parent.

"Half Chihuahua and half Weenie dog, but she looks more like a Chihuahua. Anyway she showed it to us and mom said it was the cutest thing and that I had to take her home or else she would herself!"

"Worse mistake of my life." Hellen said to herself with half opened eyes.

"Then I decided to call her Tinkerbell-"

"Because of how much she loves 'tinker'ing on dad's rug," gibed Daria through the vibrations of the door.

"And- I can't take it anymore! I have to stand by my own flesh and blood and explain everything. No more lies!" Quinn finally finished.

A dark skinned, gray haired man walks by specifically for them. He is holding together a clipboard and has a pen perched behind his ear. Under his aquiline nose was a ashy mustache hiding a mouth. Despite his age, he appeared new.

"Are you all here for a family member?" He points at them.

"Yes we are, Rosie Greyson at room B106 please point us there."

Quinn rehearsed that line since the beginning.

"Loser doctors can't count for beans!" Jake ran out of nowhere from the distance and into the hallway screaming this for some reason. There was a thin sheet of paper pinched between his fingers

"Beeeeeeans?" Said Tiffany who was finally back in the room, after both her show and Daria's have ended.

the dyad of Fashion Club members came to a bisect by Trent, who arrived there to tell Jane that she needs to head home for dinner in an hour. With his left eye he saw Sandi and with his right he saw Quinn, alone with Tinkerbell. Both his heavy eyebrows waved in the same pattern of his eyes' moments. The girls did not do anything but stop and blink at each other. Yet, Trent heard most of everything in spite of just arriving shortly. Quinn sang her running steps with the puppy's pinpoint paws swinging out of her arms. Sandi and her almost came to a collision.

"This is like that scene in the movie Dancer in The Dark, only there are no Bjorks," Trent says slowly as he comes to a bit of a pause. He talks again, "no offense, but you guys are no Bjorks."

He was oust by a stare by Sandi from their sight. Once distractions were over a spat was unavoidable; started most predictably by her.

"Visiting your emo dog sitter, I see." She cocks out a leg and crosses her arms.

"Don't be silly Sandi, I was just seeing my great aunt, Reba." Quinn only just noticed Stacy standing in place behind Sandi. "I mean Rosie."

The silence was enough to broadcast something bad, Quinn was being spurious. Trent can be heard coughing nearby. A gray wind blew away a dropped piece of paper; it was dragged all the way down the hallway like a victim of possession. If wind had faces this one would look like the one that knocked down Mr. O'Neil's papers.

"Well, what are you guys doing here?" She points out vaguely antagonizing.

"Seeing Tiffany of course," Sandi responded equally as antagonizing

Stacy speaks up at last, "I heard they got her swelling drained."

"Stacy! Ew!" Then she shrinks in the light of Sandi's scold.

Rosie woke up to a familiar face from no so long ago, Quinn only talked to her briefly as to not make a stranger out of herself for this moment. The room H-106 inhabitant was an octogenarian who is lovely if not a little senile. Both traits will help in Quinn's favor as she would rather lie than give off any hints about her relation to Daria. It came to no surprise that her dog clamored and rejoiced. She licked the peanut butter stains on her nightgown.

"Oh, hello Tina," Rosie politely greeted.

"Actually her name is Tinkerbell." Quinn held her dog facing the other way so she can rest her head on her shoulders. Sandi was the only one dreading that dog. Even before the frequent interruptions it was because she always thought of it as uncute. Like little rabid vermin in a pink dress that had "I Love My Mommy" written across the back.

Sandi sasses, "well while you're here visiting your fake grandmother or whatever, we're going to go see Tiffany."

"Tinkerbell, oh how I love Disney movies. So that's where you got the name from." Rosie smiled down at her. She got a kick out of the dog; where Sandi saw it as a rat, she saw it as a little baby deer. Finally having the name remembered, she thinks Bambi would be more suitable. Quinn of course wanted a girly name with a lot of personality. If there was any real meaning being naming her Tinkerbell it was esoteric. Rosie looks up without the smile and ganders at the window of the closed door. She was staring for a while, so much that Quinn thought she was going through a silent aneurism or another memory blackout. The old face moves back and looks straight at her. The eyes are rounded with secret; she signals the teenager to come closer to hear something important.

"What the hell kind of name is Sandi?"

The fashion club had their meeting over at the hospital. Stacy said it was no different than having one over Sandi's. Daria was above making that easy joke, as she was forced to suffer the disprivlege of overhearing their discussion. Today was the day they will be taking the TeenWeek magazine's Estée Lauder personality test, 'what perfume scent is best for you'. Fashion club tradition ruled that in circumstances of turn taking, the person hosting the meeting goes first. This room was Tiffany's, technically, and Stacy said it was fair to let someone 'handicapped' to start them off.

"This is my hell," Daria moaned.

"Question one," Sandi dictates, "which animal print do you find the most attractive on yourself or on a possible mate?"

She bends the magazine back to keep the page pinned. She shows Tiffany the answers instead of reads them to her. The idea was insanity for anyone who was farmilar with her.

"Hm, leopard...cheetah...zzzzzzzzebraaaaa..." The drawl on 'zebra' made Daria recoil. Tiffany peers closer to the next word before completing the reading.

"...or giraffe. That's a hard question Sandi."

"If you ask me I find leopard the most trashy of the four," Sandi said.

"I would say giraffe, it's the least overdone and it makes your features look thinner." Stacy takes a look at the page too.

Tiffany had no original or complex output, "yeah, girafffffe."

"Although, zebra print looks very alluring on those with black hair." Sandi pulls the magazine from Stacy and puts it down on the floor.

"Yeah, zebraaaa."

"Oh I wish dalmatian was an option. They never seem to have it." Stacy leans over it with a hand on her face and supporting her head on an arm.

"Yeah, dalmationnnn."

The banana in the fruit bowl started to look like cheetah print, thought Daria. It took a half an hour for the verdict to be closed. Tiffany answered zebra. That was by no means not the worst debate on an answer within the span of the quiz. Daria had two pillows pinned on each ear. This went on for light years in her own head. The questions were pedestrian and the answers were as bad. The ones with more than four choices were the worst. When they were done and left, Jane came back. A doctor just pulled out the wall until to separate the rooms for the night.

"How about this as a form of torture only S ranked dictators would think of; sentenced two hours locked in a room with Tiffany Blum-Deckler reading about the nomenclature of the word Homo Erectus."

"Hey, that'sssss not niiiiiiice" Jane imitates. They both laugh a little, Daria fallen off a little.

A frown so small graced her face. "I can't leave my room, so uh Jane can you get me a soda?"

A vending machine made more sense than a claw machine for a facility like that to have. Yet it was harder to fine; not right out front but all the way down the east wing. The snacks at least were not decaying like the decades old toys. Though Jane thought the selection was a might odd.

"What the hell kind of vending machine has cinnamon rolls?" Cinnamon rolls, but no bottles or cans of anything. They had Gatorade, but Jane remembered Daria hates Gatorade.

"Real scholarly minded, these people are." She puts her money away. The smell of pollen hits the air and she knits an eyebrow up. Someone stood with huge flowers in their arms, she looked lost. Two shocks of brass blonde hair grew out the sides. The flowers were a plain sign of when she was here. They are dying people and dead people all over, but a friend was put away here unfairly. The flowers lowered, Jane knew the person instantly. She cursed herself for being so slow on the realization.

"Brittany! What are you doing here?" Enter Brittany Taylor, reveal to have pink cards on her person too. Jane thought Kevin must have played sports without a helmet and had a football lodged in his mouth.

"Jane, do YOU know where Daria's room is?" Brittany's sprayed eyelashes flapped.

"Yes but to save you the walk, no. She's not drowning in her sorrows to some Papa Roach." Jane crosses her arms.

"Really? At school we were really worried."

"Yeah, well, tell them- wait a minute..." Jane uncrossed her arms, "'worried'?"

"Like, when the rumor came around, everyone laughed, and thought it was funny. But then during lunchtime, they weren't laughing. And Jodie said something about compassion for a fellow student in need. She also said we should treat what Daria has as serious as an actual sickness. I think that's right, we are all different things and have different thingys but we are all equal in the eyes of The Lord, right?"

"It's like Buddha if he was stupid,"

Brittany gives up the pink flowers and pink cards, saying the later is full of comments she would write in get well cards. Jane was confused on how to feel, and will just wait to see how Daria does. Her reaction will be something one can only imagine.

"Wow, Brittany, this is, well, this is..." a card fell, "...got to say something I wasn't prepared for."

"Pleassse make sure Daria gets these. And tell her everything." Brittany pleads.

"As soon as I walk into that room, I will."

"Yay! If she needs any bandaids for those cuts Kevin's got a whole bunch of them in his locker. Like, Plain ones and ones with the yellow teddy bear from Pokemon on them." She takes off and leaves the other girl with her gifts. Jane crouches down to grab that fallen card; she did not have the hands to open or read it. Not that she had to read anything to understand.

"I can't believe it. popular people have feelings?" From the Laagers her and Daria shared it was hard to believe. She liked the idea of giving these to her to let her share her reaction. Nether less Trent calls her to come home, because he could not find her in person at the east wing. Jane was forced to take these things with her.

"So can you like, help me with my..." Tiffany says before being shot down Daria.

"No, I don't want to help you with your damn makeup," she yells at the blockade because the roommate's face wasn't being palpable.

"...Lit class. Short storrrry," Tiffany clarifies.

"Oh okay," Daria looks down at her dry hands. The fingernails have been bitten down close to the horny hard skin. One bled a globe of blood that she whipped away with a tissue. She liked to believe her current behavior was a product of what was going on.

"I had a good idea for a story. It's about a little girl growing up a little lonely, while everyone else at school was eating out of the same box of Chips Ahoy, she was off imitating Emily Dickinson in a notebook under a table." Daria saw Tiffany's silhouette bleed through the dividing blockade. It shifts down onto the bed shaped surfaces to turn into slightly curled ball.

Daria turns her direction forward and impatiently moaned through her story, "when she was in her first year of middle school, she was bullied mercilessly by someone. This someone would step on her glasses, unplug her machine during computer class, make fun of her for things like the way she talked and the fact she didn't like to get touched all that much. All things she couldn't help. All things she grew to feel shame for. Whenever she told an adult, they wouldn't believe her. Whenever she fought back, that adult comes back to yell at HER."

Tiffany's shape rocked back and forth in easy soft motions. No sound was heard on her end. Not even her raspy breathing that sounded like someone planning to scare another over the phone. Daria's face displayed a sample of pain, the seedy eyes pulled down. She told the rest of her piece more slowly this time.

"She soon realizes the best solution was to be quiet, hiding all issues and will handle things all on her own. This little girl became a teenager who admittedly wasn't the happiest person in the world. But still one day hopes to be eased into catharsis so that she can let go of all that pain," said Daria before she swallowed an tearless choke, "turned out she is proven wrong, as she lays in a hospital bed with teeth marks on her arm and her bully's fake cry on her mind. The world will continue to overreact, under react, and even treat you like the problem."

"Waittt slow downnn." Tiffany struggled to keep up with writing so it seems, Daria did not even know she was doing anything this whole time. She asks her to scrap the vent story, seeing it was inappropriate for her to send in. No matter how important it would be for the world to see it. Tiffany chose to instead write something else on a new page, very quietly. All Daria knew about it was it had something to do with 'that guy', as Tiffany always puts it. She had a good portion of it done before one last doctor comes in for the day. Daria concludes that all the doctors and nurses she seen today look the same. Very stereotypical, possessing a stethoscope, and average looking. Not the opinion of Quinn who clucks about how attractive young doctors are.

"Okay Ms. Blum-Deckler, as soon as I give you one more brief look at your eyes, mouth and skin cells and ask you a few questions, the sooner you can go home." She asks the questions while doing the check up. Daria also concluded that Tiffany has been made to answer many questions today. The doctor said she cannot make her take home any allergy medication until she knows if she has been diagnosed her with any chronic diseases that started at birth to early childhood; specifically.

"Toxoplasmosisssssss," Tiffany hissed like a snake

Not this again, Daria grumbled in her head. She smirked after she said something else in her head. In the real world, Tiffany was told that what she said did not count.

"Um, well Sandi thinks I have a can't tell pumps from flats disability. Doesss that count?" She gave her arm out to be examined under a small portable device.

"I got a question for Tiffany," Daria interrupts, still smirking.

"Um, you're not a doctor." Tiffany squints at her. The doctor stops the examination and politely allows her to go ahead.

"Can you read your short story about 'that guy' to the nice doctor?"

She came out looking manic with a shaking left eye. It started to tear up alone while the other stayed dry. Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorfer were seated in the office watched her scream at them.

"They're both okay. Yep good to go! Tiffany took her meds and Daria was feeling great. You're all free!"

Hellen and Jake blinked

At the Lane house, Daria spend her first day a free woman there. Partially for the reason she never wants to see Quinn's dog ever again. Jane puts down her brush to tell her the dog was taken from Quinn permanently. It was announced that Tinkerbell got terribly sick from eating that gross teddy bear, and also all of Daria's underwear. When Daria returned home momentarily the bottom drawer of her dresser had a noticeably empty spot. Although still alive, she is never allowed back at her house or Sandi's and lives with some lady now. Rosie Greyson will be making her quick return home in a few days as well to raise the dog with her children and grandchildren. All under Quinn's permission, this was possible.

"Unfortunately," Daria says, "if only they didn't clap hard enough and say they didn't believe in fairies."

Jane stops sullenly and view the painting she did of a toothy smear of blue, with bug eyes. The inspiration from the last two days stayed with her. The next conversation took a while to start up, it was more serious than the past one.

Jane incidentally puts a mark of red on part of the blue creature, out of focus. "The kids at school were worried about you."

"Yeah right." Daria dangled her head of the edge of the bed. Her glasses were slipping down. Jane confirmed what she said, explaining the things she heard from Brittany. She was still unbelieved, Daria was sure it was a misunderstanding on her part and the school was worried for Tiffany. The popular kid in school hospitalized for a none life threatening allergy irritation more likely the beacon of attention.

" I guess the world didn't turn sour after two thousand B.S." Jane leads Daria out of the room with her.

"B.S.?" Daria follows her over to Trent's room.

"Before Sandi," Jane translates and opens the door. But they stand by in and do not walk in yet. If the support she received was truth, and the flowers and cards were meant for her, then Daria thinks maybe being open about things isn't completely unsafe. If only that support was for a real problem and not a hoax. Daria hugs herself a little, feeling a small version of the catharsis she seeks her whole life.

Jane laughs lowly, "so was forty eight hours of Tiffany different from six hours of Tiffany?"

"She sure is...something." something impossible maybe. That belief has not changed in Daria. There may have been depth to Brittany and the others but not Tiffany. Who remains to be a flat and boring as she was on the surface.

"That's it?" Jane says as they walk in.

"Brevity is the soul of wit." Daria stalks the walls of Trent's room. It looked different, cleaner. There was something else about it to. She tries to hunt it in her head.

"I think I read that somewhere online." Jane did not get anymore words out of her friend who stared at the wall like it was a giant painting at a museum. Daria touches it, it felt a little sticky. Even days after painting a whole room, it will have a feeling of freshness to it. Like a sheet of drying putty. She knew what was different about it, all she had to do was think about it more.

"Trent painted his room," she flatly said.

"Yep, he's finally grown up." Jane makes her look around more. The only furniture piece seen was his bed standing out in the middle with a whole new comforter. Daria did not really remember Trent's old wall color; even if she spent enough time in it before, all she can remember are the colors of his accents and maybe the floor. That feeling of remembering your childhood friend or cousin's white painted room, but the sunlight hitting it may make you remember it being yellow. Or how a blue rug, makes you picture the entire room blue. Here she sees walls of blue, a unique shade, deep and bright but murky. If Mystic Spiral was a color it would be the one she sees. The only thing straying on the floor was a unidentifiable dark object. Turns out to the girls that Tinkerbell was not the only survivor. Sitting on the floor safe from harm, sans a missing chunk from the head. Trent planned on having someone fix it, maybe return it back to the one he gave it to. Jane accidentally put the bag she used to keep the gifts were nearby it. All but one of the get well cards are from Brittany, it was pink too and identical to the others. She managed to have a few others sign it; Kevin scribbled his name, as well as others like Jodie, Mack, Joey, Jeffy, Jamie and even Quinn.


End file.
